


Lucid Delusions

by J_L_R



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Bi-Homicidal, Bisexuality, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Existential Crisis, Grammarly Said It Was Fine, Jack Seward Did Not Sign Up For This, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Not Beta Read, Obsessive Behavior, Occult, Other, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Psychology, Religion, Seduction, Sex, Stalking, We Die Like Men, vampire bride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_L_R/pseuds/J_L_R
Summary: "What can I say, compared with so many tastelss individuals surrounding us, your bouquet is a head turner.""Funny, last time we spoke you called me an 'inferior vintage'." His tone was conversational, cautiously curious to the game the other man might be playing with his...complements."My palate was distorted by the prior two tastings. I assure you, now that it has been thoroughly cleansed I am able to appreciate your," the vampire's deep brown gaze flickered up to lock with Jack's, matched by a roguish grin, "delicious subtleties properly."
Relationships: Dracula/John Seward, Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Comments: 31
Kudos: 210





	1. Letophobia

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to see more interaction between Jack and Dracula, particularly a Jack that took a bit more after Stoker's Dr John Seward who was a psychoanalyst and head of an asylum. I thought it would be interesting to place an otherwise hyper-rational modern PsyD/MD up against a being that completely defies rationality. This is the result. I admit while I enjoyed writing this chapter I am not completely satisfied with it, so I may edit later on. But I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thx for reading!  
> \- J

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's another side that you don't know, you don't know. I can't wait to get you all alone, all alone. Once I'm in there ain't no letting go, letting go. Watch me turn your mind into my home. Mind-mind games until you lose control." Sidekick, Mind Games

"Your argument is he's a crazy mutant? Like X-Men?"

Jack Seward, for what felt like the hundredth time, resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. "No. My hypothesis is that the core of his physiology is one or more genetic mutations that affects his immune system and telomers triggered by extreme environmental pressures such as blood loss with potentially a viral infection. This causes the basis of the vampirism; lack of aging, ability to regenerate, modified digestive track.”

While Genetics and Virology weren’t his areas of expertise, he was familiar enough to explain the basics. This wasn’t the first time in the last few weeks he'd had to catchup someone outside of the labbench. “But Dr Helsing was debating if the other aspects of vampirism, the ones we see differentiating from even the revenants, were not a physiological reaction at all. She noted he seemed deeply distressed to the point of experiencing physical pain at exposure to sun light and crosses, but noted there was no physical sign of injury. She asked me to consult, and my assessment is an OCD transfixion resulting in an anxiety driven somatic symptom disorder."

Margaret Wald, the acting Director since Dr Helsing's recent stepdown, pinned him with an impatient look. "In laymen’s terms, Dr Seward?"

He missed Dr Helsing already. "Dracula is not truly harmed by sun light or crosses, he can cross thresholds uninvited, he does not need his dirt. His OCD only makes him believe he does, to the point that his mind manufactures the pain he believes he should be feeling. These 'weaknesses' are not truly physical, they're psychological."

She raised an unimpressed brow. “And the bats? The wolves? The mind reading?”

“Trauma induced delusions.” Jack offered, though Dr Helsing had had her burgeoning doubts since her own interactions with the vampire it was the best working theory they had. “We know the mind will often fabricate reasons to make sense of events that are either too terrifying or confusing to process. Paranoia frequently makes individuals or even groups feel as if their thoughts are being read or tracked. Given the physical as well as psychological torture Dracula inflicted on his victims, in conjunction with folklore and religious fervor, it would have been more surprising if the victims had clearly and rationally remembered everything as opposed to creating occult elements.”

Her gaze was beginning to glaze over in a way that indicated he was losing her again, so he simplified, “It’s a protective measure the brain uses when something is too horrifying to be squared with reality. Sometimes the supernatural is more believable than that another human could be so…monstrous.”

The shorter woman raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, her eyes screwed shut as in resisting a headache. "You said it wasn't crazy X-Men, but that sounds an awful lot like crazy X-Men." She sounded tired, only a few weeks in and she already seemed run ragged. Jack gave her at most four months before her resignation notice landed in HR's inbox. "And what would you like me to do with this 'hypothesis' of yours? Ask him to go to therapy?"

"No, well, at least not yet." The idea had its merits, but also some extreme risks. If Dracula was anything like the psychopaths that psychologists had attempted to treat in the past it would be at best an exercise in futility, and that was without even accounting for the vampire’s unknown inherent neurological differences from his human counterparts. Besides, he wasn't here to treat the man, he was here to study him. "I would recommend we consider finding other means of...containing Dracula. OCD based delusions aren't exactly a stable reliable method of handling what is essentially a serial killer with superhuman abilities."

"...I'll talk it over with the board. For now, we play nice with him and his lawyer. Also, I want you in touch with every expert on OCD, Anxiety, and hell let's throw in PTSD and Psychopaths while we're at it. I want you to have his way of thinking locked down, am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. I'll also get you a meeting with our new heads of genetics and, god I can't believe I'm saying this, occult studies." He knew how she felt. Prior his meeting Dr Helsing he would have never considered keeping such a person as an on-call colleague. But they were in uncharted territory. "The more eyes we have on this and talking together, the better."

Jack nodded his understanding as they came to a stop in front of a door that resembled a mix of a bomb vault and a top-secret installation. The doctor quickly entered his password, pin, swipe pattern, face scan, and finally swiped his chipped ID card causing the door to unlock. After the...flimsiness of their last attempts, measures had been stepped up.

"Remember Seward, your job is to get samples and keep him talking. We're aware that may mean some...distasteful situations for you. Unless you are in immediate physical danger, play along and keep your shit together." Wald's expression was as hard and cold as the surrounding concrete, her next words unforgiving and clipped. "You can have an existential crisis once you walk out this door and not a second sooner. You crack, you're off the project. You need a break, you fucking go to the staff shrink and get a note."

Jack took a breath as he pressed the door open, steeling himself both against the harsh terms and the impending meeting.

"And good luck, what little good it'll do you."

The vault door thumped shut with a disturbing amount of weight, but the guards on either side of him didn't so much as twitch. The hall down to the simpler reinforced door had a man either side every 10 feet, for a total of six not counting the further two he knew would be stationed at advantages spots within the room. No chances, the board had said. Not that Jack thought all of this would do much good if the vampire broke free of his delusions or simply decided he wanted out.

The door swung, opening out into the triangle enclosure recently upgraded to layered acrylic polycarbonate walls and a metal alloy structure that was apparently above his pay grade to know about. The improved 'glass' walls warped his view so that he could only see the colors and shape of the body with no detail, it was almost more an impression of the contained individual than a true security visual. A small price to pay for the improved containment abilities, or so said the security team...

"Jack! So kind of you to visit me."

It would seem the lack of sight meant nothing to the vampire. Interesting.

"Oh, don't be so surprised. I could smell you as soon as that ridiculous sallyport opened."

The young man quickly jotted that down in his notes before approaching the entry to the enclosure’s outer wall in what he hoped was a casual manner. "That seems a long way to be able to track someone, and through a lot of metal and concrete."

"What can I say, compared with so many tasteless individuals surrounding us, your bouquet is a head turner."

A swipe of his chipped card and a face scan had the gate opening to the observation area of the nobleman's enclosure. The 'glass' here allowed for an unobstructed view at the expense of being weaker, something Jack deliberately did not think about.

"Funny, last time we spoke you called me an 'inferior vintage'." His tone was conversational, cautiously curious to the game the other man might be playing with his...complements. The doctor's eyes searched the inner room past the viewing wall and landed on the vampire lounging regally in his provided reading chair, The Picture of Dorian Gray resting nearly finished within the older man's hand.

"My palate was distorted by the prior two tastings. I assure you, now that it has been thoroughly cleansed I am able to appreciate your," the vampire’s deep brown gaze flickered up to lock with Jack’s, matched by a roguish grin, " delicious _subtleties_ properly."

It was the most disconcerting moment of Jack's life, to be stared at with such naked hunger. The cant of the man's sprawled posture was pure sensual confidence, the lilt of his tone invitingly playful. But his eyes. Jack had only seen eyes like that in board rooms and prison cells, and never once directed at him.

"You've been hiding from me, Jack my boy,” the nobleman chastised teasingly. “A 'junior doctor',” he clicked his tongue, “hardly.”

“I am a junior doctor; I haven’t completed my consultant training.” Jack deflected. He wasn’t entirely sure why it should matter to the other man, vampire, he still was undecided if Dracula could be categorized as another human at this point. In any case, the fixation on Jack’s title, with the implication he’d been deliberately obscuring it was odd. It could be societally contextual, in both previous eras Dracula had existed in titles were used as a source of power and hiding them was a deliberate strategic choice. Did he think Jack was playing mind games with him?

_Aren’t you? You’re studying him, without his expressed cooperation or consent._

“Now you’re just splitting hairs,” Dracula peered at him with an expression that might have been a playful sulk had it not had the honed edge of a visual dissection. “American medical school and certification completed when you were eighteen with duel MD and PhD degrees, followed by a PsyD completed when you were twenty-three. Collaborations with Johns Hopkins, Harvard, Oxford, Stanford, and University of California. What on earth are you doing in a place like this?" Those dark eyes slanted in knowing amusement. " _Bored_ perhaps? I can understand that. But I'm sure you could have done better than a private 'medical research firm' for entertainment.” He tilted his head to the side as if a change of angle might ferret out Jack’s supposed secrets. “Dear Zoe informed me she thought you needed the job to get you through school; but no, no, no that wasn't it. That was your excuse."

"Is this something you like to do with your prey? Attempt to figure them out, and then confirm or deny based on what their blood tells you?" He needed to get this interview back on some semblance of a track, hopefully the vampire won't notice the redirect.

"A man needs a hobby, and I do so enjoy a good puzzle. But no attempting to distract me, Jack my boy." Again, those dark eyes burned into his own blue. "Why would a young man who has dedicated his life to understanding the physical and psychological drivers of behavior willingly join such an unorthodox, some would even say _insane_ , research endeavor?" A slow knowing smile spread wolfishly across the vampire's face. "Oh Jacky, you didn't have any interest in this program, not the work itself. No, you were interested the minds of the types of people, otherwise logical scientific people, who would willingly choose to be here." Jack's heart stuttered, but his face remained neutral despite the vampire's too accurate words. He refused to give the man the satisfaction of him visibly reacting to being caught out. "Clever, wicked boy. How happy I am that I didn't let you slip through my fingers."

Jack couldn’t prevent the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up or his pulse spiking, it was an autonomic response.

_Entirely reasonable when a known serial killer exults having a hold on you._

It was only through years of practice that he was able to continue writing his notes, pretending those words hadn't woven a tightening noose around his suddenly dry throat. What had seemed like a regulated interaction had quickly veered to a situation he wasn't sure he'd ever had control over.

_It's all a game. Breathe. He's playing with you. This is what he does._

Which was true, and the vampire had many lifetimes worth of practice at it. Still, it was cold comfort as Jack gave in and broke their eye contact. The resulting chuckle rippled through him, bringing a creeping warmth up the back of his nape. "How sapidly brave you are. Like my dear Johnny that way, he was so delectably valiant."

"Johnny." He stopped writing to look back up at the smug man. "You mean Jonathan Harker?"

The nobleman's smile turned almost pleasantly nostalgic as he leaned to the side to take hold of a glass, bringing the rim to his mouth to slowly take a dark ruby mouthful. "My darling Johnny-blue-eyes, yes. My finest bride, of course until sweet Lucy. Such a lively one, he was up in a minute after I snapped his neck. And determined, he kept more of himself than even Lucy." Another mouthful of the viscous dark liquid, a sensually slow tongue running over fangs and teeth. "It seems a strong mind is more important than a fearless one. But as with all experiments, we learn. Isn't that right, Jacky boy?"

No one had ever found the remains of Jonathan Harker. Mina Murray's journals over the years showed she'd searched, but never with any results. Dr Helsing had her suspicions that Mr Harker hadn't actually died, despite his gruesome treatment at Dracula's hands. Vampires and revenants took more to kill than a skinning, as horrifying as that image was.

"So, you fully turned Jonathan Harker? Just as you did Lucy? You made him your," the word was still repellent in his mouth, but he needed to speak his subject's language " bride?"

"I did." The vampire said it with such assurity and nonchalance, as if he were discussing the banalities of completing an errand. "Currently my best. Though I do hope the next two will be just as good."

"Next two?"

_He's planning to kill again. He’s looking forward to it._

"I do have a preferred number."

"Three. Two more...that means." Jack stopped writing again, eyes reflexively widening in surprised realization. "You believe Jonathan Harker is currently undead."

Blue eyes snapped up to lock with the pleased dark gaze of the older man who smirked proudly, "Again, such a clever boy."

Jack couldn't help it, he stared in shock at the vampire who continued to stare back while he drained the last of his glass. The vampire then smoothly stood, strolling to the observation wall and leaning as close as he could to wear Jack stood behind it. "I do miss him; he was so spirited. I doubt that's dimmed much, and I am very much looking forward to experiencing him again."

The doctor grasped his notes tightly to avoid shaking, his sympathetic nervous system dumping adrenalin despite the safety glass. "You anticipate being able to see him again soon?" Was the vampire already planning escape? Was he only toying with them and their 'security' measures?

Those glinting eyes were somehow darker than before, nearly black with fever dream brightness. "Oh yes, but not just yet. I'm a bit preoccupied currently."

The younger man didn't want to ask, for once wasn't sure he wanted an answer, but something in those too bright inhuman eyes pried the words from his throat. "With what?"

Another smile. Small, all too knowing, disquietingly flirtatious, uncomfortably predacious. It sent a creeping uneasy feeling down his spine as the vampire quietly burred, "The courtship of my newest bride, of course."

Jack felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, the chilling dread seeping to settle deep in his bones as he clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth chattering. The vampire had already selected his newest victim. Was already planning his next moves, and spoke in such a way as if their layers of security precautions meant nothing.

_This is a game, and he is winning. He is winning because while we weren't looking the game changed. What changed?_

He wracked his brain for every step that had led them to this moment. The night he'd left Dr Helsing and Dracula alone as asked, the abduction of the vampire on Dr Helsing's orders due to his involvement in Lucy's turning and death, the on going emails with Renfield and the legal team –

_The legal team._

"You're going to walk out of here. Just like you did the last time." He sounded vaguely staggered; his stare unblinking as he processed the impending moves that would result in the vampire's renewed freedom. "Lucy willingly let you turn her, you had no hand in it going badly, or even in her second death. You've-"

"Done nothing you can legally hold me for. You are, again, correct." Dracula sounded excessively pleased. He leaned in to remove the remainder of space, may have removed the arms reach of distance left had it not been for the glass, as he softly purred, "But are you clever enough to know who my blushing bride to be is?"

_Do not turn your back. Do not run. Predators chase when you run. Get out. Get out, **now**._

Jack slowly, deliberately, stepped towards the reinforced door, reaching back to knock firmly to be released. Those too dark, too bright, too knowing eyes remained locked on him. The sound of the bolt disengaging was a relief, as was being able to step back into the hall. The image of elongating fangs in the vampire’s widening smile burned into his mind’s eye as he turned to enter the hallway. His heart nearly stopped upon hearing a lascivious burr, "I look forward to our next date, my clever boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to see more interaction between Jack and Dracula, particularly a Jack that took a bit more after Stoker's Dr John Seward who was a psychoanalyst and head of an asylum. I thought it would be interesting to place an otherwise hyper-rational modern PsyD/MD up against a being that completely defies rationality. This is the result. I admit while I enjoyed writing this chapter I am not completely satisfied with it, so I may edit later on. I hope you enjoy it and as always, Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Thx for reading!  
> \- J


	2. Praedaphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Here we go again. We're sick like animals, We play pretend. You're just a cannibal, And I'm afraid I won't get out alive. No, I won't sleep tonight." - Neon Trees, Animal

By the time Jack walked through the door of his flat he felt fit to collapse. The adrenalin that had kept him focused and moving had spiked within Draculas’ cell, allowing him to complete what was expected of him in a daze of habit driven movement. Somehow, he’d managed dropping off his notes with the admin office, gathering his bag and coat, and not completely passing out in a faceplant on the tube like the latest lads’ night casualty. But the adrenaline had faded from his system in much the same way the orange hued sunset had died back to a dingy purple night leaving him a shivering, boneless mess as he trudged up to his fifth floor flat. It took him three attempts to get his key into the lock, his hands trembling with the harsh chemical crash. Carelessly dumping his coat and bag next to the door, he toed of his shoes while stumbling forward to flop onto the sofa.

_Should get up, eat, clean up, sleep in a proper bed. Ignore the looming threat of a soon to be free killer vampire let loose on London._

But like many high-performance high stress workers, Jack’s ability to recognize what he should do when off the clock and his ability to actually _do_ it were somewhat at odds.

_Got hardly any sleep last night, an awful cup of break room coffee, hightailing it out on a pure acute stress response, now can’t even be bothered to get up to eat. Executive dysfunction at its finest right here._

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dropped onto the couch and then passed out after a nerve-wracking session, and certainly not the last. He was just about to resign himself to dozing off and waking up with the inevitable crick in his neck, when his phone buzzed a text in his pocket. And then it buzzed again, and again, and again. Four rapid fire texts in a row at this time of night wasn’t likely to be any of his limited friends. Which only left the institute.

With a somewhat pained groan Jack rose up on his hands to dig his phone from his front trousers’ pocket, grumbling irreverently, “Please don’t let someone be dead.”

“Distressed, but not dead.” A bourbon smooth voice commented glibly.

To Jack’s credit he did not leap off the sofa like a spooked cat at those chuckled words, but it was a near thing. His heart had jumped as if struck by a live wire quickly rousing his drowsing mind to high alert. He jerked his head up to lock eyes with the too smug vampire. Standing in his living room. His living room he’d _not_ invited him into.

“Get out.” The doctor spat sharply. He wasn’t entirely sure why he thought the demand would work with the individual across from him, and could only chalk it up to an involuntary attempt to regain control. Given the imperious quirk of the Count’s inky brow it seemed the vampire found the attempt amusing.

There was something in the man’s tone and tilt of his head that gave the impression of an adult indulging a favored cheeky child. “Now Jacky, I’m sure you have much better manners than that.”

“Not to uninvited guests.” The younger man lobbed back, mind scrambling for some semblance of normalicy to this otherwise disturbing situation. He glanced around seeing no sign of a break in, but also confused as to how the vampire could have managed to stepped foot inside given his delusions. “How did you even get in here?”

Dark eyes glinted with self-satisfaction at having caught the doctor off balance, “After our lovely time this afternoon, I simply couldn't wait to see you again." The vampire nodded behind Jack to the door, "Your maintenance man was good enough to let me in.”

Frank. Frank who was too kind, too trusting, too gullible to the point that a few tenants had nearly been burgled more than once and an ex of a man on the second floor had been able to plead being locked out to then turn the poor sod’s flat into a demo sight. Frank, who was only kept on because he was the landlord’s cousin and despite his gullibility was handy and cheap. Frank who always asked if Jack had himself a nice girl yet, or guy, or anyone since he worried about Jack, “Just not right, hard workin’ young fella like ya with nah one ta come home ta.”

Jack, who normally had a strong stomach, felt himself suddenly nauseous at the mental image of poor Frank with his throat ripped out, eyes locked wide open glazed over with terror, left dumped on the floor like an unwanted takeaway, “Tell me you didn’t kill him.”

“And ruin my appetite?”

_No one should have any right to sound that personally affronted when discussing their patterns of sanguinarian motivated homicide._

The flippant mocking tone should have been provoking, but he was too wrung out to maintain any level of energetic disapprobation. It would instead be better to focus on what he knew to be true and could actively work with right now. Frank had let the vampire in. And said vampire had waited for him, had gotten here before him.

_You can’t do anything about Frank now, or him being here. Try for some casual conversation, see if he’ll offer any useful answers._

“Your lawyer works fast; you must have been released nearly as soon as I left.”

The vampire again peered down at him, taking in the whole the doctor’s face. It gave Jack the distinct impression he was anticipating enjoying his next words. “Before you came, actually.”

Something stuttered in the younger man’s awareness. “Before I…”

_Dracula wasn’t being held during our meeting. He was there of his own free will. He…wanted to be interviewed? Wanted to talk? Wanted to talk to me? But why?_

The doctor’s mind fired in numerous directions, concocting reason after reason for why the vampire might choose to play nice with the institute’s psychologists. Bored, curious, good will, information gathering. None of it was good, and what was worse none of it properly fit the man’s profile. Dracula did not find general human interaction interesting or useful and he felt too secure in his own abilities to bother with developing rapport. He only ever played at any of it to hunt.

_But, if he’s hunting and he’s here then-No, breathe. Don’t assume. Breathe._

“You stayed to gauge us, like a deerstalker sizing up an elk herd.”

That too sharp inhuman smile was back as Dracula gleefully breathed out, “Oh _very_ good my clever boy. You’re finally beginning to understand the layout of the board.”The vampire prowled towards Jack, who found himself unable to move from his pressed-up position on the sofa, wide eyes locked with in inescapable heated stare. With the grace of a large cat, the Count smoothly settled himself opposite of Jack to then lean forward and reach to cup the young doctor’s cheek. His fingers splayed ever so gently were Jack’s jaw and neck met, straight edge nails curled to press tenderly to his carotid artery as a cool thumb caressed his parted lips. “Do keep going, I’m _aching_ to hear more.”

Jack’s face was flaming red, the heat of it creeping down his neck to stretch beneath his collar. He could feel it burning its route, more disturbing he was unable to avoid seeing the Count’s dark glittering eyes hungerly track the flush’s spread. His heart was a vivace drum in his ears, feeling as if it would somehow beat itself free of his chest.

_Breathe. A perfectly normal autonomic response. Breathe. Think. You know the statistics, your only chance is to keep him talking._

“You didn’t find anyone immediately on hand when they were holding you.” That deathly cool thumb was now stroking from the corner of his mouth to the edge of his jaw, the edge of the nail always stopping just short of catching. The Count continued to watch him, his eyes lazily traveling over Jack’s face. “But you knew they were bringing in a psychologist later. You also knew, from Dr Helsing, that that psychologist was likely to be me.” Dark brown eyes slid down to stare at his mouth, as the Count’s thumb again stroked teasingly across his lower lip causing an involuntary shudder to course through him. Horrifyingly, heat began to settle in Jack’s lower abdomen, he swallowed dryly as his throat suddenly felt tight. “You stayed…for me. And then you tracked me, to my home. Broke in, waited.” He didn’t want to go on. The heat in his groin had sparked to nearly full cock hardening arousal despite of, or perhaps because of, his increasing terror. Jack felt himself both sinking within his mind and at the same time removed from his body as if watching this all unfold.

_Freezing, disassociating, hyper arousal. A step away from a full-blown panic, if not already there._

A gentle nudge to his chin forced him to look up into dark brown eyes gone nearly black. The Count tilted further forward until their noses were nearly brush, his calm aspect a direct contradiction to the scorching desire in his gaze, his breath autumn cool across Jack’s mouth, “You’re not done yet, wicked boy.”

_But. But, I am. I am._

Jack couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but stare into those waiting red tinged eyes, body desperately flushed, and hollowly gasp out, “I don’t want to die.”

He was sinking into those hellishly blood ringed sable eyes, the hand on his face nearly loving as it stroked down his throat. “My clever boy, no one ever does.”

The world went still, and then black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up, thought a bit shorter than I had aimed for. I feel as if I'm finally beginning to find a voice and rythm to this character and story, and I deeply appreciate everyone's patience during this process. I was attempting to capture that lack fo space that Jonathan felt in the castle by having Dracula already able to invade Jack's home. For a personality like Dracula's, it doesn't seem likely that he would patiently wait to trick just Jack into letting him in, especially if there is other easier prey around. As always comments and kudos are my creative life source, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Thx  
> \- J


	3. Noctiphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life" - Hozier, Take Me to Church

Jack has never been one to wake slowly, he’s either dead to the world or snapped awake as if flipping a switch. But not now. Now his limbs feel weighted down by wet sand, mind sluggish as it struggles to pull molasses thick thoughts up, eyes leaden as he struggles to roll over. His head is aching in a way he hasn’t experienced since his last night out with bad influence company, too much techno, and too many vodka shots. The young man attempts to swallow past the gritty cotton-mouthed feeling with minimal success. Waking is a struggle he wonders if perhaps he should give up on, at least for now.

Except his phone alarm is ringing on the floor by the bed, and it’s definitely some day of the working week. It doesn’t matter he feels like he’s been dragged through hell arse backwards, research does not wait; he’s going in.

As Jack hefts himself into an upright position and attempts not to take a header into the floor, he squints at the too bright light spilling into the bedroom from the toilet. He never forgets to shut the lights off, even when drunk or ill, and is cursing his apparent laps of habit as the unforgiving light pierces his retinas. Wrangling his phone from it’s charger, the doctor stands on shaky legs to stumble across the narrow hall to the toilet, feeling lethargic in a way that reminds him of a particularly bad flu but lacking the fever or nausea.

_Fuck. What happened?_

He grips tightly at the frigid edge of the sink, palms pressing heavily into the ceramic to take the weight of his upper body as he blearily stares at himself in the mirror. Eyes still somewhat hazed, under eyes darkened, skin a hue just a touch too anemic, a general disposition of enervation that no amount of tea or even coffee will improve. He’s looked worse after a long night out, certainly, but he just can’t seem to remember what he did to-

Muddied crimson flashes from somewhere in the left in the reflection, and Jack blinks at it. He doesn’t own anything that perturbing shade of red, and it seems to move with his slightly swaying arms. Bracing his weight on his right side, the doctor squints slightly as he raises his arm and sees a delicate crescent of perforations horizontally along his palmaris longus across the length of his wrist, smeared with dried flaking blood.

The pounding in his head is horrendous as he stares, memories slowly surfacing like attempting to dredge the clinging mud of a murky quagmire.

_“You stayed to gauge us, like a deerstalker sizing up an elk herd.”_

_“You’re not done yet, wicked boy.”_

_“I don’t want to die.”_

_“My clever boy, no one ever does.”_

His legs give out.

The floor feels unsteady under his scrambling hands, the icy gelidity cutting through his trousers to seep into his bones. Jack feels numb but knows it’s more than the chill of the tile. He’s trembling and rigid, torn between panicked terror and aggrieved fury.

_One can experience traumatic shock and assertive anger together._

Shock. Anger. He is _angry_.

Suddenly the marrow deep numbness of shock lit like dry high summer tinder to a roaring wildfire of blazing temper.

_That damned monster has violently invaded my home, overpowered me, assaulted me, and left as if it was all his inherent right to do so!_

The doctor’s hands form tightly clenched fists, shortly clipped nails pressing harshly into the flesh of his palms as he lashes out to the floor, the wall, the edge of the dingy cheap tub, whatever he can pommel his fists into as he dry heaves sobs that are only wretched from his chest as raging screams. He continues on that way until he no longer can. Until the flaming fury burns itself out to flickering coals, banked by cinders of horror. His hands throb, pulsing as blood rushes to fill the already purpling bruises. His throat feels like it’s been through meat grinder, minced raw. He feels more exhausted than when he woke, and yet-

_I will be **damned** if that psychotic sadist wins._

Jack takes a breath, forcing it to reach to the bottom of his lungs and expand his diaphragm. All the way to the toes, as one of his professors would have said. He shifted to lean back against the wall, gratefully noticing he hadn’t managed any amount of damage a bit of plaster and paint couldn’t hide. His mind seemed to finally be kicking over, searching for rhyme and reason to his current situation.

_All instances of assault are about power and control. This was no fucking different._

It is in that moment that his mind flashes back to his and Dr. Helsing’s assessment of the vampire. Megalomaniac, although antiquated, had been thrown around. But what sort of power was the Count exerting now?

_Assailants pick their prey for key traits, always the same key traits. What was it that he saw? Think. Fucking think!_

The vampire enjoyed toying with his prey. Given the accounts the institute had managed to gather from oral histories, legends, diaries, and Mina Harker’s writings it seemed he had two types of hunting. Hunting purely for sustenance; people who weren’t likely to spot they were being stalked, not likely to be missed when they were gone, and not able to put up much of a fight. This had not been a sustenance hunt, he could have taken Jack at any point along his route home, but had instead waited for him within his own home and had left Frank, a much easier target, alone. He’d conversed with Jack, seemed to take pleasure in mental games, and even greater enjoyment in demonstrating his physical control over Jack. This was a hunt for pleasure. It had all the hallmarks they’d noted with the nuns, Sister Agatha, Jonathan Harker, even to an extent Lucy – he felt his chest constrict as his breath caught trying shake the image of her enraptured charred face falling to ash in his hands-

_Fuck. Breathe. Keep it together. What else?_

A pleasure hunt. The vampire would be back, and would keep coming back until either he bored of Jack or drained him dead. It was an impossible situation. Give in and die quickly, or fight back and likely die trying.

_“I don’t want to die.”_

_“No one ever does.”_

The doctor’s scream of frustration was locked away behind gritted teeth, but the sound of his fist cracking plaster pieced the air sharply.

He needed time to think, time to plan. He couldn’t come back here, at least for now. He needed somewhere safe, somewhere the vampire could never reach him at night.

_Where is a nun convent when you need one?...Hold on._

A small inkling of an idea forming in his mind, Jack reached to the sink counter for his phone. The contact number glowed innocently from the screen. Taking a firm breath, he dialed and waited with eyes locked on the opposite wall as the line rung, before a formal but pleasant voice greeted him.

“Blessed morning from the Tyburn Convent Benedictine Adorers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus of Montmartre. This is Sister Ann-Gregor; how may I help you?”

_Ann-Gregor, perfect! Pleasant and calm. Pleasant and calm. You can do this._

“Hullo Sister Ann-Gregor, I don’t know if you remember me but this is Dr Jack Seward from-“

“Oh Jack! Of course, I remember you, so good to hear from you again. The others will be so glad to hear you called. What can I help you with?”

He felt the creeping sense of guilt for what he was about to ask, but forced it down as he imagined coming home to a surprise visitor again.

_It’s a stop gap. It’ll be fine._

“Ah, well, you see Sister I uh-“ It took no level of acting to sound frazzled and nervous. “I, I need help.”

“Jack Seward,” the older nun easily slipped into the firm motherly tone he’d heard often with the younger Sisters. “What is going on?”

He took a gulp, and then a breath, “I…I need a place to stay. I’m, I’m not safe. I was attacked in my home last night. They’ve been watching me. It’s only for a few days.” Did he really sound that small? That shaken? “Is the caretaker’s cottage still empty?”

“You pack a bag and get right here young man. The fact you’d even call to ask!” He felt a rush of relief at her indignant demands, a fond small grin the first positive emotion he’d felt since waking up.

“Thank you Sister, thank you.”

“Oh hush you ridiculous man, we’ll see you soon.” The voice of a life long nun brokered no argument, the normalcy of the whole thing a steadying comfort.

“Yes, Sister. See you soon.”

As the phone app shut off with the end of the call, Jack leant forward to hold his head in hands. He would go to Tyburn Convent, then to work, then back to Tyburn before the sun set. He would not be anywhere but either of those two places after dark. He would figure this out. First Tyburn, then the institute’s Occult expert.

_Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I won’t be so easily caught again, Dracula._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware this is a little shorter and up much sooner than usual, but I was so pleased with how it came out I couldn't wait to get it up. Jack needed some time and space to have his emotions, and as for where Dracula is off to only he (and me) knows. I can say the Count has been rather busy when not tormenting his new favorite psychologist.
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed this, and I live for kudos and comments.
> 
> Thx  
> \- J


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